


Love, Fred

by SC_ript



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, JK Rowling - Fandom
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, J. K. Rowling - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1813597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC_ript/pseuds/SC_ript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hope I have made it bluntly clear that this is not an and-they-lived-happily-ever-after love story. This is not the and-his-scar-hadn’t-pained-him-for-nineteen-years-all-was-well ending that Joanne wrote to make herself feel better. This is the facts. All the facts. The fact is that Fred Weasley dies. He dies in battle and he dies too young and he dies laughing and he dies, and it would be best if everyone acknowledged that because I would prefer that our computer screens remain tear-less throughout the duration of this novel. Fred Weasley dies. And he dies in love with the woman known as Joanne Rowling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September 1st, 1982

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first go at fan-fiction (though not my first novel, don't worry), and I really hope y'all will enjoy :) I know it's a bit of an unconventional pairing, but please bear with me- I've had this idea for a while now and I just had to get it out of my head. Because of the unusual pairing, it may stray a bit from both Joanne's "real life" and the book canon, but I'm trying to keep it as accurate as I possibly can. Hope you like it!

Joanne had never intended to be in London on September 1st, 1982. She had intended to be holed up in her dorm room at Exeter, still in bed, with a hot cup of tea and her slightly-more-than-slightly weathered notebook. But when Sean Harris, a friend of hers from secondary school, demanded they meet up for a weekend in the “big city”, she found herself more reluctant to refuse than she was reluctant to bear the two-and-a-half hour train ride into London.  
She was there, standing, slightly soggy, outside the train station as she waited for her Mr. Harris to pick her up, when she bumped into, or rather, was bumped into by a lanky red head with too many freckles. The boy, seemingly near to her own age of eighteen, deftly caught her book midair, stopping it from continuing on its untimely descent to the floor. He flashed her a staggering smile, like he was biting back the urge to laugh, and despite the unfortunate red hair and numerous freckles, she found that her knees weakened a bit at the sight.  
“Sorry, love,” He said, handing over her book before beginning to straighten out his old-fashioned pinstriped blazer, somewhat unsuccessfully. That would have been it had not Joanne, an obsessive compulsive, set her book on top her luggage, which was resting on the ground, and reached out to straighten his attire herself. When she had deemed it suitably straight, Joanne, feeling momentarily giddy, offered its owner a timid smile.  
“Perfect- where are you headed in that?"  
“Work,” The man answered, brushing the orange bangs from his forehead with a practiced swipe of his hand. “An unusual occupation. And thanks for the help. Sorry for very nearly throwing you off your feet.”  
Teasing him, the blonde girl inquired as to what his “unusual occupation” might be, and found herself taken aback when he told her, voice filled with a fatherly sort of pride, that he ran a joke shop with his twin, George. Eyes twinkling, as they had a natural tendency to do, he refused to tell her the name of his shop, instead asking her to a cup of tea at a café only just around the corner.  
“Thanks,” She told him, “but I’m waiting for a friend. And I won’t be the reason your boss sacks you for skipping a shift.”  
“Benefits of self-employment. Work can wait for a pretty girl,” He replied, winking, and she blushed at his forwardness. “And we’re opening shop later today, anyways. Just finished seeing my younger brothers and my sister off to school. Merlin knows what trouble they’ll find there.”  
Though her hairline lifted subtly at “Merlin”, Joanne gave him a polite smile. “Big family?”  
“You could say,” He did say, laughing. “Three older brothers, too. You?”  
“Uh, no. Only me and my sister, Dianne.”  
The boy nodded, looking comically surprised for a moment as another drop of water hit him, sliding down his nose, as if he had only just noticed the rain. “Dreary weather.”  
But Joanne liked the rain, really. She was a closet romantic, and it always seems to be raining in the movies when something life changing happens. Rain prepares a person for the important. But the red head, with his bright hair and bright eyes and bright smile, was a boy who appreciated the sunny weather, a rare and depressing inclination when one lived in London, England. These preferences went unsaid at the time, however, as Joanne tended to shy away from small talk, and the weather is typically grouped in that category. This klutz was a bold sort though, and he was simply content to grin impishly at her, watching in delight as her face took on the same color as his hair.  
“Come on,” He insisted. “This weather is dreadful,” (it was coming down in buckets now, and the pair looked like two cats that had been forced to bath), “and it doesn’t look like your man is coming anytime soon.”  
Somewhat reluctantly, Joanne found herself agreeing with him, because Sean was over a half hour late, and despite her love of rain, she was beginning to feel like the victim of a potential cold.  
After receiving her approval, the gentleman picked her luggage up from the concrete, tucking it under one arm, and grabbed her already damp book off the top, stuffing it under his shirt in a futile attempt to save it from further ruin. Joanne giggled beneath her hand, staring pointedly at the square shaped bulge that was now protruding from his shirt. Shrugging, he smiled openly, unbothered and relaxed. He reached for her with his left hand, because he was carrying her luggage with his dominant hand, and Joanne, also right handed, grabbed his outstretched fingers with her own. They walked down the sidewalk together, hand in hand, two idiots that had not bothered to learn the other’s name before falling in love.  
Because love is the only powerful magic in this world, and it was an unheard echo in the minds of both of them as the tall stranger smiled down at her.  
“I’m Fred.”


	2. September 3rd, 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a few days to upload- I was camping. Excuse the sappiness in this chapter and the coming ones.

Joanne did have a cold. She told Fred this, twisting the phone’s cord around her finger and watching as it went white, while she sat amongst the mountain of tissues slowly accumulating around her in bed. His chuckle filled her ear, slightly distorted from the static on the phone line. He, of course, was blessed with an impeccable immune system, but Joanne didn’t have any trace of bitterness in her voice as she smiled secretly to herself, cursing him for his unfailing luck in winning the genetic jackpot. He laughed. Eventually, she would learn that luck had nothing to do with anything as far as Fred was concerned, however it would be too many years too late when she came to accept this.   
Listening as Joanne blew her nose rather loudly into a tissue, Fred only laughed harder. She found herself unexplainably grateful for her sickness, and that was definitely a rarity. She usually associated sickness with her mother’s own illness, which had tainted her childhood home as she was growing up. Not that she had an awful childhood, she wouldn’t regret her mother, but it was not an altogether pleasant or normal home. Fred did many things for Joanne in the two short years they were together, and this was one of the best. From this day on, Joanne would associate sickness with the warm sound of Fred’s laugh instead. It was a medicine that never failed to cheer her up, until the one time it did not.   
“So you’re stuck in then?” Fred asked, his voice still laced with laughter.  
“It seems so.”  
They shared a mutual silence for a moment, which was interrupted by the loud bang of Joanne’s door being shoved open by her frantic roommate, who will cleverly avoid documentation, and so, for the sake of this story, will be known as Claire Galbraith. Claire Galbraith was the sort of girl one would expect to find at a prestigious university in Oxford: put together, smart, and relatively level- headed. Her flushed face and hurried movements were enough of a distraction to Joanne, and she offered Fred her apologies as she hung up the phone line.  
“Alright?” She inquired, swinging her legs off the side of her bed. An avalanche of tissues went tumbling down in the process.  
“Um” was Claire’s intelligent response as she began raking through the trunk at the end of her bed. “I have the most brilliant idea for my term essay, I just, uh, need- ah!”  
Claire emerged from the depths of her trunk, holding a book above her head like she was King Arthur and it was the Holy Grail. She trekked to two short steps to where Joanne was sitting, shoving the book into her hand (A Complete History of Greek and Roman Mythology). Joanne listened distractedly as Claire launched into a rapid-fire explanation of her essay, color lighting her face as grew more and more excited. The best thing about being near passionate people is that they have an infective optimism, and Joanne smiled, suddenly eager to tell Claire about the charming ginger she had met in the rain.  
Turning, Claire grabbed her book back and settled down on her bed, pulling a bright blue comforter up around her shoulders, her eyes finally resting on the phone that had been in Joanne’s hand a few minutes previous. She gestured to it with a careless hand. “Who called? Your mum- how is she? Or are you still not talking to your dad?”  
Joanne scoffed. She was suddenly nervous, and she glanced down at the fingers entangled in her lap, but excitement trimmed her voice as she told Claire about Her London Boy. He had taken her to the café, refused to let her pay for her meal, saying something about mothers and murder, and she had laughed until her sides ached with painful joy. She left him with her phone number, and he left her with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call. He had, earlier that morning, before Claire interrupted. He had tried to hang up when he heard she was sick, refreshingly and annoyingly chivalrous, but she wouldn’t let him; she was bored and tired and lonely, and he was exciting and funny and kind. As far as things went with the two of them, Joanne would always see herself as the depressed girl from a tragic background, and Fred would be the happy boy from a loving family, and she thought he was brilliant and he thought she was perfect, and together they felt wanted and they were whole.   
They had hardly begun to realize this, two days after their first meeting, but they were learning, and Fred appeared at their door as Joanne was midsentence, dressed in a smile and holding a picnic basket. He looked hesitant and hopeful and a little bit beautiful. Wordlessly, he handed her the basket, heavier than she had expected, and motioned for her to lift the lid. Brows pinched together in (adorable) curiosity, she met his eyes, lifting the lid with caution and peering down inside. She gasped, giving him a genuine smile, as he jumped up and down with delight in the entryway. Inside the basket was a thermos filled with chicken noodle soup, a second one with hot tea, a box of tissues, and anti-congestant medicine. It was awkward (they had only just met, but Fred insisted that he had to, after all, it was his “fault” she was sick) and endearing, and Joanne pulled him into a hug. Claire, who had been standing and feeling out of place off to the side throughout this exchange, introduced herself before leaving. She gave and excuse for her departure, but she was lying, and we will say here that she was an undoubtedly good friend, though she would not remain friends with Joanne long enough to be remembered.   
Fred pulled away from Joanne with a pause, looking both pleased and nervous, before speaking. “I’m sorry. This is weird, right? It’s just, I was in the area (lie #1) and I thought- yeah.”  
He seemed to be regretting his decision, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous intern on their first day at the job.  
Joanne smiled. “No, it’s sweet. Come in?”  
She motioned for Fred to sit on the bed opposite her, grimacing when she noticed the mass of tissues that were still piled on her bed, overflowing onto the floor. Anything but discreet, she grabbed handfuls of them, feeding them to the nearest trash can while shooting him a “sorry” look. He was grinning. She shrugged, and he broke into a laugh.  
And this is how their story began, with a laugh, and it will end with the same.


End file.
